Shortly after this Hiawatha set out in his canoe to catch the sturgeon Nahma, king of fishes. The monster fish lay on the white sand at the bottom of the river, and Hiawatha, line in hand, sat in his canoe, shouting: "Take my bait, O Nahma; come up and let us see which is the stronger!" At length Nahma grew weary of this clamor, and said to the pike: "Take the bait of this rude fellow and break his line." The pike tugged at the line till the birch canoe stood almost endwise, but Hiawatha only pulled the harder, and when the fish rose to the surface he cried with scorn: "You are but the pike; you are not the king of fishes," and the pike sank down ashamed to the bottom of the river. Then Nahma bade the sun-fish break Hiawatha's tackle, but again Hiawatha pulled the great fish to the surface of the water and again cast him down, crying: "You are not the fish I wanted; you are not the king of fishes!" Then Nahma grew angry, and, opening his huge jaws, swallowed both canoe and Hiawatha. Finding himself in utter darkness, Hiawatha groped about till he felt the monster's heart which he smote so fiercely that he killed him. Anxious to escape from his dark prison, Hiawatha waited till the giant sturgeon drifted on to the shore, then called for aid to his friends the sea-gulls, who worked with their claws and beaks till they made a wide rift in Nahma's side and set Hiawatha free. [Illustration] Proud of her grandson's bravery, old Nokomis now set him a difficult task. "In a land lying westward, a land of fever and pestilence, lives the mighty magician, Pearl-Feather, who slew my father. Take your canoe and smear its sides with the oil I have made from the body of Nahma, so that you may pass swiftly through the black pitch-water and avenge my father's murder." Thus spoke old Nokomis, and Hiawatha did as she bade him, smeared the sides of his boat with oil and passed swiftly through the black water, which was guarded by fiery serpents. All these Hiawatha slew, and then journeyed on unmolested till he reached the desolate realm he sought. Here he shot an arrow at Pearl-Feather's lodge as a challenge, and the magician, tall of stature, dark and terrible to behold, came forth to meet him. All day long raged the greatest fight that ever the sun had looked on, but no weapon could penetrate Pearl-Feather's magic shirt of wampum, and at sunset, wounded and weary, with three useless arrows in his hand, Hiawatha paused a while to rest beneath the shade of a pine tree.